Three months later, Michael Sterling was... restless.

The world had, for the first time in a year, stopped spinning. The "Championship" season didn't start for another month.

The "Championship-Class" (Lvl 3) Training Complex his dad was building was almost done. The giant, glass-and-steel "Fortress," as Steve called it, was a beautiful, shining, monument to their new "Dynasty."

Michael was standing in his new, massive, glass-walled office, just... watching.

He was watching his dad, Steve Sterling, who was still in a hard-hat, roaring into his phone at a terrified-sounding marketing agent.

"A DAIRY SPONSOR?!" Steve boomed, his "Partner" voice echoing across the (perfectly-un-spongy) new turf. "You want to put a COW on the sleeve of MY CHAMPIONS?! ARE YOU INSANE?! GET ME A ROLEX! OR A SPORTS CAR! I AM BUILDING GLADIATORS NOT MILK-MEN!"

Michael just laughed.

It had been the best summer of his life.

The $10,000,000 "Championship War Chest" his dad had transferred... had been... fun.

The first thing he did was not 'business.'

He'd taken the entire team and the staff to Spain. For a week.

He'd booked an entire beachfront hotel.

It had been chaos.

Michael, for the first time... just... relaxed. He sat on a beach chair, his sunglasses on, his [System] off, and just watched his "kids" be kids.

Jamie Weston, his [CA 71] "Rocket," had immediately challenged Shaun "The Butcher" Higgins to a volleyball match.

It had not been a "fun" game. It had been a war.

Michael had just watched as Jamie screamed... "MINE!" and spiked the ball so hard it hit "The Butcher" square in the chest.

"The Butcher," who hadn't flinched just smiled. A terrifying, "I-am-going-to-end-you" smile.

Michael had left after that.

He found Finn Riley

...who... was not... swimming.

He was trying to sell seashells (that he was stealing from the hotel lobby decorations) to tourists.

"They're.'magic,' mate!" Finn was chirping, his 'Wild Fox' energy at full power. "You buy this you'll... run as fast as me! Five euros!"

Arthur Milton, who was sitting under an umbrella in his full tracksuit just rasped, "He's a menace to global commerce. I love him."

Kai Sora, the "Bouncer," was of course not in the sun.

He was floating in the pool. On a lilo. Under a giant umbrella that a terrified hotel staff member was holding for him.

He was reading a giant hardback book on quantum mechanics.

"It's... 'too bright,'" Kai... had... drawled, not looking up.

Then they got back.

And Step 2 began.

The money.

Michael... had called... them in. One... by one. Into his new... office.

Jamie Weston... was first.

"Right, Jamie," Michael had said, trying... to sound serious. "Your old salary was *'talented-League-One-kid' money. This is your new salary."

He... slid... the paper... across the desk.

Jamie looked at it.

His [CA 71] eyes popped.

"Boss" he whispered, his voice... cracking. "This this has to be a mistake. This this is 'Ferrari' money!"

"It's... 'You-Scored-a-35-Yard-Rocket-at-Wembley' money," Michaelgrinned. "Don't buy a Ferrari. You'll crash it."

Finn... was next.

"Boss! Boss! Boss! Am I... getting 'Ferrari'... money?!"

"No, Finn," Michael... laughed. "You're... getting... 'Please-Stop-Trying-to-Sell-Stolen-Seashells'... money."

He gave all of them new contracts.

He... gave... all of them... Championship-level... salaries.

His "Kids"... were happy. They... were loyal. They... were ready.

They... were his.

...Which brought Michael back to today.

One month to go.

In the "War Room."

Steve slammed... his... phone... down.

"ROLEX!" he boomed. "ON THE SLEEVE! DONE! I TOLD them 'cows' were stupid!"

He clapped his hands. "Right! Money! What is left in the War Chest?"

Michael... looked... at his spreadsheet. His beautiful, complex, wonderful... spreadsheet.

"Okay," Michael said, his own "Boss" voice clicking... on. "The Spain trip was $150k. The new contracts signing bonuses were $2 million. We signed 'The Butcher' ($1.5M) and my Colombian 'Magic Bean' Left-Back ($200k)..."

"So after all of that we have... $6,150,000 left to spend."

"GOOOOD!" Steve boomed, rubbing... his hands. "I... am bored! Let's... buy... a monster! Son... go... to your... magic... box! Your 'System'! Find... me... another... [PA 97]! Find... me... a... 'Bouncer'... who... isn't... so... annoying!"

Michael... winced.

This... was the problem.

"I... uh... I've been... looking, Dad," Michael said, quietly. "Every... day."

He... tapped... his laptop. The [System]... glowed.

But... the [Scouting Hub]... was... dark.

[SYSTEM: 'NO ELITE-TIER WONDERKIDS (PA 90+) FOUND...']

[SEARCH CRITERIA: POSITIONAL NEED (STRIKER) // BUDGET (< $6.2M)]

[...SEARCH... EMPTY...]

"It's... it's empty, Dad," Michael whispered. "The... 'magic beans'... are gone. The [PA 90+]... kids... they're all... more... than $10M. We... we can't... afford... a new... star."

Steve's "fun"... vanished. "What... do you mean... 'empty'?! Your... 'magic box'... is... broken?! After one... season?!"

"It's not broken!" Michael said, frustrated. "It just... it's logical! The Championship... is harder! The players... are more... expensive! We... need... a... Championship-level... striker... now... and... my System... can't... find... one... we can... afford!"

"So... that's... it?!" Steve boomed. "We... go into... a war... with *one... 'Rocket'... and a prayer?!"

Click... clack...

A... sound... from the corner.

Arthur Milton... who had been silently... watching... re-runs... of the Wembley... match... just... smirked.

He... muted... the TV.

"So..." he rasped, his eyes... gleaming. "The... 'magic... computer'... is... failing... you."

Michael... just... sighed. He... hated... this.

"Gaffer," Michael said, his voice small. "I... I need... a striker. A real... one. Jamie... is a god. But... he's one... man. The 'Championship'... is a 46-game... meat-grinder. He... needs... help. And... my... System... is... dry. I... I... I need... your... 'System.'"

Arthur... just... grinned.

A slow, proud, beautiful, "I-thought-you'd-never-ask"... grin.

He... didn't... go to his desk. He... reached... into his tracksuit... pocket. He... pulled... out...

...a creased, folded, napkin.

"A... 'napkin'?" Steve boomed.

"I... was... at... a... pub... last week," Arthur rasped,... un-folding... the napkin. "The... 'Butcher'... dragged... me... out. Said... I... 'needed... sunlight.' He... was wrong. But... then... I... saw... him."

He... slid... the napkin... across the desk.

Michael... read... it.

It... was scrawled... in blue... pen.

[NAME: 'KEVIN... 'THE GHOST'... SULLIVAN']

[POSITION: STRIKER]

[STATUS: 'THE WRECKAGE']

Michael... blinked. "Gaffer... this... this is your... guy! The [PA 95]... wreck! The... the car-crash... kid!"

"He... was... 'The Wreckage,'" Arthur smirked. "Now... he's... 'The... Ghost'."

"Why... 'The Ghost'?"

"Because..." Arthur's eyes... shone. "I... watched... him... play. In... his... pub... league. He... he... he... doesn't... run... anymore. Not... fast. His knee... is gone. His... [Pace]... is dead.

"...But... his brain...

"...He... never... moves. He... just... appears. In... the box. The ball... finds... him. He... scores. He... disappears. He's... a ghost."

"So... he's... slow?" Michael said, his heart... sinking.

"He's... [CA 50]... at best," Arthur nodded.

"GAFFER!" Michael gasped. "We... we can't... sign... a [CA 50]... slow... 'ghost'! We... are in the CHAMPIONSHIP!"

"He... is [PA 95]... *in... his... brain," Arthur snarled. "He... is angry. He... is hungry. He... is better... than anyone... you... can buy... for $6 million."

He... tapped... the napkin.

"He... is... us, Michael. He's a broken... kid... who... needs... a home. He's... a 'Brave'. And... he's... cheap. He's... a free... agent."

Michael... just... stared... at the napkin.

A... [PA 95]... brain... in a [CA 50]... body.

He... looked... at his Dad.

Steve... just... shrugged. "He's... free? I... like... free! 'Free'... is good! We... can buy... another... 'Butcher'... with the rest!"

Michael... looked... at the napkin.

He... looked... at Arthur.

He... smiled.

"A... ghost... hunt, eh?" Michael laughed. "Okay, Gaffer. You... got... it. Let's... go... sign... a 'Ghost'."

Arthur... just... grinned.

"Good," he rasped. "Now... about... that... other... $6 million...

"...I... also... need... a goalkeeper..."

Michael... just... laughed. This... was it. The Dynasty... was building.

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